


things you didn't say at all

by dicksargents (BlondeTate)



Series: trc drabbles [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Drabble, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlondeTate/pseuds/dicksargents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it is the symphony of driving with ronan lynch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things you didn't say at all

**Author's Note:**

> originally on tumblr written for the "things you said" prompt meme. you can find it [here.](http://dicksargents.tumblr.com/post/122085912558/pynch-5)

outraged honking and bad electronica music and obnoxious humming vibrate through your head and your toes and everywhere in between. a fifty-something balding pink-faced man rolls down his window and yells something very rude about the youth of america and the carelessness of this generation. the answer is a middle finger raised without even a glance in his direction. sharp right turns and sudden stops characterize the journey and make the car tremble obediently under the driver’s hands. the volume of the music intensifies as it reaches its climax just in time for a lazy but perfectly executed parking maneuver.

it is the symphony of driving with ronan lynch.

the song - it could hardly be called that - streaming through the speakers annoys you but almost in a fond way; like a pesky little sister who tells your mother you’re hiding magazines with naked ladies on the cover under your bed and then draws a picture of you the next day; or, more realistically, like the person sitting next to you in the driver’s seat. the car’s stopped moving but you wait because he does and he waits because the song - _song_ \- is not finished yet. suddenly, he turns to you with raised eyebrows and a curious smirk and you stare back at him blankly because his face is a question you don’t understand. his eyes move to where your hand is resting against the window and, - oh, now you understand the question and his amusement. your fingers have, shamefully, made their own decision without consulting your brain and now they are tapping against the glass in rhythm of the music - _music_. you remove your hand immediately, sliding it into your pocket - out of sight, out of mind - and shrug nonchalantly.

his laugh is smug and his words are mocking. “i could make you a mix, if you want.”

the end notes sound just then and he turns the radio off before the next song could start. you want to answer. you want to say something but you don’t know what; you can’t figure it out, you can’t find the words or follow your own thought process. it’s something, just on the tip of your tongue, wanting to be spoken, wanting to be heard, but not quite ready yet, not yet.

you’re irritated. with yourself, with him, with his music, with your fond annoyance of it that somehow feels like a frustrating symbol of something more.

you shake your head. “no, thank you.” fond annoyance does not equal like.

you both climb out of the car then and he slams the door shut and doesn’t say anything either. not yet.


End file.
